Hold Off the Earth Awhile
by 14RosemaryIsland
Summary: Set in Modern Day, Hamlet and Laertes have a significant amount of water to sweep under the bridge-or should I say willow-when they wake 42 hours after their deadly duel, haunted by a memory more real than a reminiscence. The questions isn't so much who, as why? Tiny R & J overlap for plot purposes only. Prologue can be skipped for those who like to get straight to the action.
1. Prologue: Setting the Stage

**Notes of the important variety:**

All quotes in Italics are by Shakespeare himself, I merely borrow for emphasis, because Lord knows he can say things better than I can

This prologue and first chapter can be skipped if you are the type of person who enjoys getting right into a story. The chapter called Tensions is really where the plot picks up.

Characters: I am basing a few character personalities on the production I was in. The most important one to note is Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were gay but it was never addressed, just heavily implied. Because this fic is set in modern day they are openly a couple. And very flamboyant  
And Laertes is a total bad-ass

AliceEddor: I have a very dear friend who I write with, we bounce ideas off each other, create stories together and share and critique each other's work. She was also a kick-ass Rosencrantz. We each have our own version of this story and it's sort of our baby as we've been working on our own separate versions for a while now. They are quite different and yet the same (apologies for the vagueness of that statement)...Anyway she very kindly but unnecessarily dedicated her version to me and shamelessly praised me so I shall do the same for her because she is wonderful and deserves it and please go check out her account on  
**Username: AliceEddor**  
Thank you, Alice.

* * *

**Hold Off the Earth Awhile**

**Prologue: Setting the Stage**

The pharmacist was about to close up for the night when she heard voices behind her and footsteps pounding against the pavement. A young man was running full tilt towards her shop. She recognized him as a customer who had been hanging around earlier that day. He had placed an order but the new shipment had yet to be unpacked and he'd left muttering what she assumed were obscenities. Now it seemed he would not take no for an answer.

Behind him was a balding middle-aged man of the church who also had a frantic air about him. He too had been here earlier; they had both asked for similar items which happened to arrive in the same shipment. The pharmacist had told the two of them to come back later but she was expecting them maybe the next day or the day after, not right before closing. She sighed, exasperated realizing that her plans of going home early were shot. Bracing herself, she turned and greeted them.

"I sorry gentlemen but I'm closing for the night, I will have your orders ready for tomorrow," she explained. They both looked confused and she realized that she would have to mime what she meant. After doing just that the young man cursed in another language and whipped his phone out of his pocket, quickly finding wi-fi and typing something into Google translate. He showed her the screen which read:

"_I leave tonight. I not be at store tomorrow. Let me in? I pay double."_

She cocked an eyebrow.

Turning to the other customer who explained a similar predicament in fractured French she forced herself not to roll her eyes and unlocked the door again. Both visibly relaxed as they stepped over the threshold. She motioned for them to stay where they were and disappeared behind a swinging door to rummage through the supplies that had come in that day. Reappearing a few minutes later she slammed two bottles onto the counter impatiently, stepped behind the till and gestured at a sign in the window with an ID card on it then at the young man. He shot her an incredulous look then flashed his ID confirming he could in fact buy the product. He seized one of the bottles, tossed a couple of bills onto the counter and stormed out.

The man who appeared to be a priest of some sort smiled grimly at her and gingerly took the remaining bottle, paid and left glancing around anxiously before scuttling away.

* * *

Hamlet was aware of an agonizing pulsation in his head. Attempting to open his eyes was not the best idea as he nearly passed out again when he tried. He quickly realized that his body, which felt strangely leaden, was lying down. The surface he was on was cold and metallic as well as smelling intensely of Lysol, bleach and other sterile cleaning products. _Hospital?_ He wondered. He tried to think back on what had happened before he woke up but it the throbbing in his head intensified and he groaned

Feeling had begun to return to his limbs and he wiggled his extremities without much difficulty. Bracing himself, he raised his eyelids by a sliver and found the pain did not intensify nearly as much as it had before…but a surge of extreme nausea coursed through him and he vomited over the side of…whatever he was lying on. Oddly enough, he felt a little better now that his system had cleansed itself and he propped himself up gingerly on his arm only to feel a sharp sting and collapse. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and saw a grotesque horizontal gash on his left arm, the skin around it was darkened and greyish.

In a few seconds everything came back to him: The funeral, the suspicion, the duel, the poisoning, his revenge, everything. He lay there collecting memories until the throbbing subsided a bit. Taking a deep breath he managed to sit up and finally get a look at his surroundings.

He was naked.

On a metal table.

In a morgue.

He heard something coming from the table next to him and before he even turned his head he had the sinking feeling he knew who it was.

Laertes moaned

* * *

**So, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, criticism etc. let me know!**

**Anon!**


	2. Chapter 1: Tensions

**Chapter 1: Tensions**

It had been a little over two weeks since Hamlet and Laertes had awakened. After nearly delivering a coronary to the poor mortician, cleaning their wounds and sorting out all the necessary paper work they made their way back to the palace. They had not been overly surprised to see the flag of Norway hanging above the large entrance signifying a temporary (or maybe not) change of governemtn which was personally fine by the both of them.

To retrieve their belongings that were still in the palace they had to have an audience with Fortinbras. Hamlet was all too glad to officially give up the power that came with being resident Prince after everything that had happened since his father's death and Fortinbras was kind enough to let them remain on the palace grounds, living in a smaller summer house until they could support themselves, feeling very pleased with himself.

The reunion with Horatio had been joyful; while Hamlet embraced his faithful friend and talked with him late into the night Laertes felt more inclined to stand back and conserve his personal space. Every so often he would wonder whether or not he should join them but he'd glance over to where the two were in deep discussion, the song Bromance would pop into his head and he'd go off by himself letting the events of the past few months or so flood his mind.

Since then tensions had grown considerably; to the astonishment of everyone Rosencrantz and Guildenstern turned up out of the blue, still utterly oblivious to _who_ had put them in their fatal predicament. They never did share exactly how they'd escaped the English law but more or less appeared just as they had a few weeks ago if not jumpier, they also kept to themselves more and had both lost a considerable amount of weight. To Horatio it was clear that Hamlet felt incredibly guilty but to the inseparable duo, he was pretty much the same way they'd left him…just a little saner. Their presences lead to many awkward lulls in otherwise relatively amicable conversations but unfortunately their very personalities seemed to put Laertes off and as the days passed he grew increasingly edgy.

Of the little group he was the outcast, though they spent time together and chatted Hamlet had Horatio and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern simply didn't leave each other so he was on his own in that respect. It was clear even to the characteristically oblivious pair that he was upset and it had something to do with Hamlet who he had trouble looking in the eye. The former Prince—of course—had noticed it but he knew perfectly well why and decided it was best to give his childhood friend some space, letting Horatio act as mediator. He had observed that darkened circles had formed under Laertes' eyes; he often passed the time in his room playing loud music and a strange smell could be faintly detected if you stood outside the door.

The final straw came; however, when they were all sitting in the living room after a light dinner; each performing a separate activity: Horatio was studying an English textbook, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were watching What Not to Wear, Hamlet was looking out the window listening to his ipod and Laertes had just emerged from his room. Glancing at the television with mild disgust he snatched the remote from the coffee table and changed the channel.

"We were watching that," protested Guildenstern half-heartedly.

"And now you aren't," retorted Laertes. He began flicking through the channels ignoring the uncomfortable fidgeting of the could-have-been-twins next to him.

"We just wanted to finish the show and then you can—"

"You're. Finished. Watching." He continued stabbing the buttons until Horatio looked up and tentatively intervened

"Please, Laertes there was only 10 more minutes left," he began but trailed off when it became clear he was being blatantly ignored.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you manners," demanded Rosencrantz standing up for his shaken companion. Laertes stiffened and turned away from the TV agonizingly slowly; Horatio inwardly winced, Hamlet had not moved.

"Oh, pardon me, Mommy's Boy, I never had one," was the glacial reply. The tone alone lowered the temperature in the room by about 15 degrees. Rosencrantz was taken aback, not so much by the sarcasm (which likely flew over his head) but he had not anticipated this response and therefore had no idea what to say next.

"Well…your…father then," he spluttered. This time Horatio was positive he actually cringed as Laertes narrowed his eyes and his lips twitched ever so slightly.

"You have no idea what he taught me," it came out as a near growl. Rosencrantz was lost at this point, all he knew was the man sitting next to him was getting more and more intimidating and he still hadn't avenged his friend's humiliation. As a last ditch effort he racked his brain trying to think of another family relation…when it came to him he essentially proceeded to pick up a proverbial shovel and dug himself into a deeper hole.

"What about your sister, she's very well behaved," stated the sadly ignorant Rosencrantz triumphantly. Horatio's jaw was on the floor. Hamlet merely fiddled with the volume control. Laertes snapped

"WAS, SHE WAS!" He roared before hurling the remote across the room, making a beeline for the door, throwing it open and storming outside. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were paralyzed, sitting in a catatonic state induced by the intense rage and perplexity at the whole situation. Horatio stared at them, then at the door and then back again in disbelief. Hamlet shook his head and pressed play.

* * *

**Rosencrantz and Guildenstern may not have actually known that Ophelia was dead. As you can see, they're quite dense. It is unclear how they escaped England, Alice has taken care of that side of the story, I have chosen to leave it out.**

**Thank you for reading, questions, comments, concerns, critiques etc. so far?**


	3. Chapter 2: Discovery

**Quick note here, I hope you're enjoying the story: When Polonius mentions the trouble that youths get into with brothels and gambling etc in II. I Our cast and director quickly took to the idea that he was describing his own youth. So Polonius was quite a raunchy fellow. This is relevant, trust me.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Discovery**

Laertes' breath clouded in front of him in small puffs, the sun had begun to set bringing a damp chill and he didn't have a jacket but he didn't particularly care. He'd been wandering for hours now meandering away from the urban environment which he found stagnant nowadays and into the woods that expanded behind the palace. Trudging through the underbrush it suddenly struck him he might have been lost, but he didn't particularly care. His father's voice echoed in his head, reminding him that if lost in the wilderness, finding a stream would always led you somewhere and you would be near fresh water. As luck would have it, he heard a faint trickling noise and on a whim decided to walk towards it. It got louder as he approached growing to a fluid murmuring until he broke through the treeline and stepped onto a mossy bank which sloped down to a burbling brook. Indifference if nothing else kept him moving in the direction he was already going but the muddy ground was causing moisture to seep into his shoes and slowly but surely numbed his already sore feet but he didn't particularly care. Nonetheless he came across a tree that hung over the water and stopped underneath it to rest for a bit.

He leaned against the trunk and closed his eyes. A breeze picked up making the lazy branches sway peacefully. He felt the leaves tickle his face and reveled in the rare serenity of the moment. Now that he thought about it though, that didn't feel like a leafy texture, it felt more like fabric than anything else which was odd. Curious, he opened his eyes and sure enough there was a small piece of faded textile that had been torn off and had caught on a low hanging branch. He stared at it for a few seconds longer before an intense feeling of dread engulfed him, nearly winding him. He recognized that strip of cloth, he recognized it very well. Before the mounting panic could fully set it he forced himself to look upwards and could make out a recently severed branch that used to stretch over the stream. In a second of horrifying lucidity he heard the Queen's wavering voice from almost a month ago as if she had been standing right next to him.

"_There is a willow grows askant a brook…"_ she had said. Scrambling madly backwards and out of the suddenly claustrophobic limbs of the willow he fought the growing urge to surrender to overwhelming panic. But as he backed away something caught his eye and was hit with another realization.

Cautiously approaching the tree again he peered at the bark. There were etchings in it that could still be made out, though they were clearly quite old. Three notches in the tree, two about the same height and one a good deal shorter than the others. Before he could attempt to block it out a memory he'd almost forgot overtook his consciousness and played itself out.

* * *

"_I can't tell you're both pretty much the same," proclaimed the councillor's daughter. She had observed her brother and Hamlet argue for the past 10 minutes about who was taller and they had abruptly declared her judge to deliver the final verdict while they stood back to back._

"_Well, I guess we are from way down there," said Laertes unable to resist the opportunity that had presented itself. He was bemused by the glare that she shot him, she really was trying her hardest to be intimidating but on a short, chubby 10-year-old death scowls don't quite work._

"_I'm not that much shorter…and I'm still growing," she protested._

"_Sorry, sis, I'm having trouble hearing you up here!" he retorted._

"_I have an idea," said Hamlet acting as peacemaker. Though they were concealed fairly well he glanced around just in case. They were down in their special meeting place, by the brook under the shade of the old willow that grew right next to it. No one ever really came there anymore except the three of them and Polonius when he came to fetch his children._

_Once he determined the coast was clear he removed a small dagger from the lining of his jacket causing both brother and sister to stop quibbling and gaze at the sleek blade with rapt attention. The Prince grinned and situated himself at the base of the tree so that his heels were right up against one of the spongy, moss coated roots. Pressing himself against the bark her placed the knife just above his head and in one quick motion swiped it leaving a horizontal gash in the trunk._

_Fascinated, Laertes grasped the handle reverently and examined the craftsmanship for a few moments before copying Hamlet and making another mark._

"_Can I make one too?" The last member of the trio stepped forward, and held out her hand. Laertes hesitated, looking at his sister quizzically, unsure._

"_Maybe I'd better—"_

"_I can do it," she cut him off indignantly. He sighed and let her have the dagger; she took it and marched purposefully over to a clear section on the tree. Squeezing her eyes shut she placed it above her head and quickly formed the third and final notch. Both she and her brother unintentionally exhaled in unison then stepped back to view the results._

_Hamlet was indeed the tallest but not by much in comparison to Laertes, unfortunately an age difference of 4 years had caused the girl's notch to be significantly farther down than her brother's. Hamlet appeared indifferent but an air of smugness could be detected. Laertes was sulking ever so slightly which was magnified in his sister who had taken sudden interest in counting the blades of grass at her feet._

"_I'm still growing," she muttered again weakly, she knew she was the shortest but hadn't expected it to be by THAT much._

"_But you'll have to grow a whole lot to reach this," cried Laertes as he lunged nimbly for the dagger she was still in possession of, snatched it from her and held it above his head. She frantically tried to take it back, embarrassed that he had managed to poke more fun at her and that he had caught her off guard._

_Hamlet quietly observed the two siblings; one leaping madly about but still not coming much closer to the prize clutched tightly in the outstretched arm of the other. Although it was all in good fun he did recognize it was, in fact, a very sharp object they were tussling over and he searched for a distraction but the situation resolved itself when Laertes accidentally stepped on a small, patch of greenery._

"_Look what you did; you stepped on a little rosemary! They're early this year…" She trailed off and plucked a handful of the somewhat flattened flowers from the ground. Hamlet went with the sudden change of events still trying to divert the subject._

"_What does Rosemary mean? I can't remember," he joked. Laertes rolled his eyes. She giggled and handed him a stalk. Just then a twig snapped,_

"_Kids, it's time for dinner," came the disembodied voice of Polonius. Laertes hurriedly handed the dagger back to Hamlet who in turn stuffed it into his jacket. The three of them exited the willow's embrace and were met with suspicious scrutiny._

"_What were you up to in there?" Queried the older man_

"_We were just seeing which of us was the tallest," replied Hamlet nonchalantly, "it's me."_

"_But I'm really close," Laertes piped up_

"_I'm smallest…"_

"_Hey, don't worry, good things come in small packages," said Hamlet reassuringly and she beamed. Laertes rolled his eyes again. Polonius overheard the last remark and something twinged in the back of his memory._

"_That's what she said," he whispered to himself, and lead his children away._

_The girl glanced back at Hamlet and blushed, then looked up to her brother and grinned at him, already having forgiven him for the teasing. She unfurled a fist that she had previously been holding behind her back revealing another small stem of Rosemary. She offered it to him and he accepted it smiling back at his little sister._

* * *

Reaching into his pocket with quivering fingers he produced a lighter and a joint. He suspected that the smell coming from his room might be giving his habit away but he didn't particularly care. Sticking it between his lips he tried to light up. The flame sputtered feebly then died. He tried again with the same result.

"Come on," This time it stayed lit but just as he was about to inhale a barely audible 'hiss' rose from the end, weak tendrils of steam were released and the dull glow was extinguished.

The end was damp.

It wasn't raining.

He spat the soggy cannabis onto the ground and viciously stamped on it. After taking a few deep breaths he turned to walk towards the castle, but was stopped dead by an intense paranoia. He could feel eyes piercing his back. Whirling around he came face to face with nothing but empty air. But he still felt it. His attention became drawn the willow and what he knew resided in it. Steeling himself he ducked under the branches and carefully removed the snagged piece of fabric. He held it in cupped hands and examined it before gently folding it, placing it in his pocket and trudging home.


	4. Chapter 3: Haunted

**Chapter 3: Haunted**

Laertes was losing his mind.

He was being followed, he felt it. Watched and followed like he had at the brook but now it was 24/7. That wasn't the only thing though; whatever was watching him was sending him messages—paranormal messages. On some level he knew what—or should he say who—it must have been but admitting it might break him once and for all.

He first noticed something seriously amiss when he returned to his room the night he rediscovered a remnant of his childhood and recovered the last tangible memory of his sister. Once settled in he tried to light up again but the same thing happened by the tree, it fizzled out as if someone poured water over the tip of it. Earlier on he had chalked it up to moisture from the brook (it was a feeble excuse but he didn't care to mull over the other possibilities at the time) but there was no reason for this in his room. He tried again with another joint and then another but each time the same thing happened. Invisible liquid fingers snuffed it out.

The next day, he had just entered his room when he was overpowered with a suffocating smell. Instead of the slightly musty odour of a country house mingling with remains of marijuana he gagged on the pungent air that suggested he was standing in the middle of a fragrant meadow. The floriated air forced him to stumble out of his room coughing and gulping lungful's of the normal oxygen in the hall. Holding his breath he tentatively stepped inside again only to find the smell completely gone without a trace, in its place a lone petal rested upon his pillow. When he touched it, it melted into a few droplets of water.

Two days after that he was listening to music and lying in bed. Despite the past 24 hours of everything being ordinary his nerves had not calmed. He was jerky, anxious, barely slept and was beginning to bear a dangerous resemblance to his late sister. He had the volume on full and wore headphones; he found the disconnection from the world soothing, focusing on the flood of sound. He could hide in it, inhabit it for a while and in return he was sheltered from the darkly surreal reality that was now his life. His state of mind had allowed him no moments of candour since the fleeting seconds at the willow and that had been short-lived.

He was just about to drift off when the song changed, not unnatural as his ipod was on shuffle but this was not a song that he had purchased. This was not a voice he thought he'd ever hear again. This was not a song he thought he'd ever hear again. This was not a song that he ever wanted to hear again. A brittle ghostly voice hollowed him out and refilled him with ice.

"_And will he not come again?  
__And will he not come again?  
__No, no, he is dead gone to thy death bed,  
__He never will come again."_

Even with only the sound, there was clearly something very wrong with this singer.

"_His beard was white as the—"_

Laertes violently jerked out of his aurally induced cryogenic state and tore the headphones off. Sweating, tremulous and nearly hysterical he blindly stumbled to the washroom where he splashed water on his face, breathing raggedly. He looked in the mirror and his heart nearly stopped.

He was staring into the eyes of his younger self. The tiled wall of the bathroom was not behind his reflection but the willow and the brook. Down by the bank there was another figure, a small girl, beckoning him.

What little was left of his sanity drained away. Grabbing a porcelain soap dispenser he flung it at the mirror screaming

"WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHAT DO I HAVE LEFT TO GIVE? LEAVE ME ALONE!" The image of his sister—happy and alive—summoning him was carved into his mind. Calling him to the burbling stream…

The remains of the mirror rained fragments of the shattered image as he calmly walked, out of the washroom, down the hall, through the living room and out the front door.

"I'm coming," he whispered.

* * *

Hamlet watched Laertes leave before following him.

He had been keeping mental tabs on the distempered Dane since he had returned late from his impromptu stroll 4 days ago. Something had seriously altered him that evening, the strange smell that came from his room had faded and he had performed an emotional 180.

Hamlet noted the anxious and uncharacteristically fearful demeanour intensify to the point where he could practically see raw nerves fraying and cracking. It didn't take much thought for him to conclude that sooner rather than later at this pace, Laertes would implode.

What the Ex-Prince was pondering now, was: Why? Since they were small Laertes had been fairly hot-tempered and ambitious but also resourceful and independent. He was a fierce protector of those he cared for but tended to do before thinking, especially when angry. Not much had changed save for a shifted perspective on life that came with age and a unique, precisely refined wit. Suave adventurer with an air of danger about him he struck fast and fought hard.

That was before he "died"

After he'd woken up he had withdrawn, no longer extroverted and smooth but dishevelled and inward. This seemed to aggravate him and he was perpetually ready to lash out at any excuse. He finally reached his limit (unfortunately Rosencrantz and Guildenstern happened to be on the receiving end), disappeared for a few hours and returned even worse than before. Hamlet focused and let the crisp clarity of the evening air influence his thoughts:

Laertes had reason to be unhappy, that was a given: He had left Denmark months ago an adventurer and returned an avenger. He'd lost everything and was prepared to lose his life by coming to terms with the consequences of his vengeful actions; and gaining Hamlet's forgiveness he could rest in peace. But it was not to be, he had lived, lived to see nothing ahead of him, save for ennui. Had he even had time to let himself accept the passing of the two people in the world he held most dear to him? Was it all hitting him now?

That would do it: He'd forgiven Hamlet as spasms of death wracked his body but now that he was alive letting go was more difficult for he'd have to experience the pain of loss, which had inevitably caught up to him. But that still did not explain his rapid mental debilitation over the past few days. Pale, shaky, anxious, hyper-alert at all times he looked like he'd seen a—

Hamlet stopped dead and closed his eyes journeying through the depths of his racing mind. He knew it was possible, that they were real. His own father had appeared to him after death, why shouldn't it happen with another spirit to send a message to someone else? It suddenly made sense, the drastic behavioural alteration, the mounting unease and the cryptic sentence he'd screamed not 10 minutes ago except for one thing: the disappearance of the smell outside Laertes' room. After something that traumatizing why would he suddenly cease his "habit"? Unless "Stop smoking" was the message…or maybe he had this wrong, there was no actual apparition, just signs—signs of another presence. Making itself known, trying to draw attention to themselves so they would be heard but unintentionally causing the intended recipient to believe they were losing their minds. The message being listened to hinged on the sanity of the receiver. But if the fear becomes too great and the beneficiary becomes desperate, then what?

With mounting horror he analyzed the scene Laertes had caused. He'd drawn attention to himself by almost falling out if his room and collapsing onto the opposite wall before making his way to the washroom where he turned on the tap. Then nothing but the trickling for a split second until an almighty crash signified the breaking of the mirror as well as the silence as he cried at some unknown entity. Then silence again until he composed himself and simply exited the house. Composed himself? That last part couldn't be right, it didn't fit with any of his previous behaviour with the exception of one intention…

Hamlet broke into a run.

* * *

**I've tried to capture the reasoning process of Hamlet, he is a genius philosophically but he also knows people, how to read them, talk to them and use them. I wanted to get what other people saw of Laertes and Hamlet's point of view seemed to be the most beneficial in terms of the story, I hope his deductive section has not dragged too much. **

**Feedback is much appreciated, thank you.**


	5. Chapter 4: Explanations

**Chapter 4: Explanations**

Laertes paid no heed to the various twigs and branches clutching at his clothes. Ambling robotically through the woods the white noise of the brook began to echo in his skull and with the auditory guidance he altered his course towards the source of the sound. As the spacing of the trees thinned, the recognizable site caused a kick of desperation to fuel him onwards until he stood at the bank. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, a cold current breaking his fall.

* * *

Hamlet was cursing himself for stopping as he had almost lost track of Laertes but a loud splash caught his attention and with his suspicions confirmed he increased his speed. Coming to a small clearing he did not have time to register the familiarity of his surroundings, rather he dashed towards a small creek of sorts where a partially submerged figure was sinking

* * *

Numb

It was good

Letting the water literally drown all feeling from him

Suddenly he was yanked upwards

Startled he inhaled sharply only to receive a flood of water rush into his lungs and he was pulled to the surface spluttering and retching slightly, writhing in the grip of his rescuer. He finally broke loose and clawed his way onto the bank, panting. He wasn't too sure how long he lay there but after his breathing returned to normal he let out a chuckle. It was disturbing to hear, uncalled for and brimming with bitterness.

Rolling over he found that he wasn't even surprised to see Hamlet sitting next to him. He chuckled again and shook his head, falling back and presumably addressing the sky.

"Sorry?" said Hamlet, trying to make out the unintelligible phrase.

Laertes turned to him again.

"Do you know how _she_ died?" He asked, "Were you ever told?" Hamlet was taken aback; it slowly dawned on him that he didn't know, at that point he was seeing so much red he must have indirectly blamed it on Claudius.

"No," he replied, "How?"

"Drowned"

"What?"

"Here"

Swiveling his head in all directions Hamlet took in the location. There was something very eerie about it, not sinister but almost time-honoured. It nagged at him

"Suicide?" The word fell out of his mouth before he had time to stop it.

"Don't know, maybe, wouldn't blame her," Through the apathetic tone of someone hiding behind sarcasm he accentuated 'blame', lacing it with resentment.

"What happened?"

"Maybe I should be asking you," Laertes was denunciating with such passivity it was beginning to irk Hamlet but he held his tongue; he was in no position to be doling out accusations. However, Laertes wasn't done and aggression was creeping into his voice causing him to crescendo as he continued.

"Before I left, I warned her about you, I made sure to. I told her I know what guys are like and to watch out; she promised me that she would be careful."  
"When I arrived—as expected—there's an email already from her saying how things are and she sends one every few days for a while until I get one with no subject that just says 'you were right'. I could guess _who_ she was talking about but not _what_ you had done," He was now speaking directly to Hamlet but didn't leave time for him to answer."  
"After that she emailed less and less and then stopped altogether. So I thought I might shoot one off to my Dad just to make sure everything was okay and he didn't answer either. I knew the internet server wasn't down because I had chatted with Bernardo just the other day. Then my Dad was deleted from my contacts list, his account had been deactivated."  
"Let alone the fact that he can barely work a computer he would not do that while on of us was away, the first time I went off alone with no cell service I returned with 14 missed calls and I was only gone for 5 days! No one could tell me anything except Bernardo who sent me 'Dude, I'm so sorry'. So with no idea what was going on I packed up and got on the next flight home."  
"I'm pissed off right now, like, really pissed off and I don't care who's in authority I just want to know what the hell is happening. I don't even ask for an audience I just barge into the throne room and apparently someone had already told them I was coming because the King and Queen were not surprised so much as nervous. Nothing is making any God damn sense so I just demand to know where my Dad is and I hear that he's dead!"  
"My Dad was killed while I was away and no one thought to tell me and before I can even fucking blink I hear this noise coming from outside the door and everyone in the room freezes so they know what's coming but again I'm left in the dark until I see her…"  
"She was crazy Hamlet; she was bat-shit, fucking crazy! Singing those songs that we always got stuck in our heads when we were little and giving out flowers!" Laertes was nearly raving, reliving the haunting recollection so vividly he was using the present tense. Hamlet could only listen in stunned consternation.  
"You and I both know she could name every single fucking flower in Denmark and tell us exactly what they meant and I swear to God she knew exactly who she was giving them to and why, so there must have been some part of her in there that knew what she was doing. And she'd look at us—The Queen, the King and me, and there was another guy in the room too but she didn't notice him. She finished giving out flowers and then said something about Dad, that the violets died when he did but as soon as she mentioned him—Jesus, it was like she was just realizing he was gone and she started singing again which made her forget everything, like the singing erased her memory and she smiled, she fucking smiled singing that song about a dead man." He paused  
"She finished and said this weird blessing almost, before looking at all of us and skipping away. That was the last time I saw her."

Hamlet felt all of the guilt he had shoved aside from the first visit from his Father to now come crashing down on top of him. He had felt a fairly pointed pang when Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had turned up but nothing like this. Laertes fell silent for a moment before taking a breath

"The King told me that you were responsible for the death of my Dad and I had already started blaming you for her going crazy and we planned how to—well, yeah you know about that but then the Queen came in and flat out told me: quote '_you're sister's drown'd Laertes'_. Barely any lead up, just that she was dead. She climbed that willow," he gestured weakly in the general direction of the offending tree; "but a branch snapped and she fell into the river and drowned. You know the rest."  
"When we woke up I found out the poison I'd bought wasn't actually poison, it was a mixture that knocks you out and mimics death but doesn't actually kill you which explains that, I must have gotten the order mixed up with another guy who was in the store at the same time as me," He ended up telling Hamlet everything: His walk, the drugs, the messages, the dress piece and reminded him about the spot and the memory that had come.

"Just now, in the brook," he sounded tired; he was drawing to a close. "I could feel the bottom…I could easily stand in that water…she could have too. She just didn't fight at all…It's like she wanted me to come here, I don't know why but I just couldn't deal with being followed and reminded everywhere I go and I just thought that it had to end…" He trailed off. The two men sat, each registering what they had just come to terms with, the light shifting as the sun sank lower in the sky. Hamlet decided it was his turn; Laertes had a right to know why he had been dragged through Hell's half acre and then some.

"What I'm about to say is not an excuse. You should just know some things. It's long, but at the very least it may offer a few explanations," He closed his eyes for a moment and began to tell his story; starting with his feelings on the death of his father and his mother's new marriage up until his "death". Laertes would occasionally ask questions and Hamlet would answer them and continue. Once he finished he let the stillness of nature reign before amending his tale and leading into the possibly unsafe subject he had been pondering.

"I know what you felt, I know how you saw me…I was your Claudius. There is no denying that I seriously fucked up your life and there isn't anything I can do to change that and I don't see why you would want my help with anything but I've been thinking and I may be able to give you a little bit of solace as a sort of penance, I guess."  
"You know who has been watching you," It wasn't a question.

"I believe you, I fully believe you and it's unfair of me to ask for your trust but will you hear me out?" he saw Laertes hesitate. "I might have answers, where else will you get them?" He added, pushing a little harder. Laertes acquiesced with a resigned nod of his head.

"The first thing my Dad said to me when he led me away from the guards: He said to listen to him; which I didn't quite understand, why wouldn't I? He followed that with saying he didn't have much time; he was basically doomed to walk the old battlements that he'd once patrolled but only for a certain amount of time each night, the rest he spent in the…otherworld" He decided it was best to leave out the part about eternal damnation.

"Those battlements meant a lot to him, he was ready to stand there and protect them with his life, and he did, multiple times, as did his father and so forth, it was a place of honour and pride for him, so he was attached to it. He could physically manifest there because it anchored him.  
"But, looking back, I can remember just always catching glimpse of him in my peripheral vision, every time I walked past a reflective surface I could swear he was behind me. I convinced myself I was only seeing it in my head, it would make sense; the stages of grief and all that but I don't think so anymore, I think he was trying to get my attention in any way he could. He had something he needed to tell me, something so important he had to risk me not being able to mentally take it. Fortunately, I saw him before I began to question my sanity…well, for the time being—never mind: what I'm saying is he could contact me under two conditions; 1. that he had something to say or unfinished business, you said it yourself 'a message', And 2. That he had a strong attachment to something in this world. I'm still kind of confused as to why I never got the more…intense messages you got but do you get what I'm saying? " Laertes' eyes grew wide as the fuzzy haze of near hysteria that had clouded his mind over the last 4 days was dispelled revealing a dawning comprehension.

When Hamlet had spoken of seeing a spectral reflection, he could relate, he too had decided it was parts of his brain in denial but the messages hadn't intensified until…

"The dress piece," he blurted out. "It was on her when she died, it wasn't buried with her, so maybe it's like a magnifier, she can reach farther with it; but then if she can give those sort of crazy realistic visions why can't she just pop up anywhere?"

"Because the dress isn't what anchors her here, it isn't strong enough, it's like—okay, weird analogy, but it's like a gun without bullets; you can't actually shoot it. The dress piece is like an empty gun, you can bluff with it, but you can't do any real physical damage," Hamlet concluded. Suddenly, another insight pieced itself together in his mind and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"That last image of her…in the mirror…you said she was calling you down here." Both men looked over their shoulders as if there might be an apparition right behind them but there was nothing save for the forest. They both relaxed, if only minutely before Laertes registered that something was still vexing him.

"Why hasn't she been trying to talk to you? And if this is the spot why isn't she here now?" He asked. Hamlet pondered this, sitting still and gazing at nothing until a melancholy expression passed over his features, framing a forlorn exhaustion Laertes hadn't seen there before. Whatever he'd thought of was not going to be easy for him to say.

"In the two times I saw her while you were gone I showed no mercy. I had to hurt her, I had to get her away from me, I was dangerous. But when I heard her—your father and she lied to me I lost it. I couldn't even trust her anymore; her allegiance was to her family. Looking back I know now she didn't have a choice but I was just so angry and I took it all out on her and it was over. We were over  
"The last chance I had to make it up to her in some way was during the play and what did I do? I humiliated her, I used her." He had automatically reverted to an unemotional tone as he did when he needed to control or distance himself.  
"It's not that I never got the chance to apologize, I just never took it. So I wouldn't be surprised if I was just being ignored, I don't deserve her energy. But it's also that we ended with finality, she said all she had to say to me. It's my move…but when she said goodbye to you it was a 'see you in a few months', she fully expected to see you again. And she did, not really though. She still has something to say to you and you alone. She's not here because I'm here. That also explains why you haven't seen your Dad, he was always giving advice and probably decided that if worst came to worst he would give you his ultimate wisdom before you went off into the world." He checked the sky where the warm colours were fast fading and twinkles of light were faintly visible. Stretching he brushed the grass off himself and stood.

"It'll be getting dark soon…good luck," He meant it.

Turning away from the clearing, he strode away setting a course to the summer house, feeling oddly untroubled.

_My move_

As the gaps between trees became larger he impulsively changed his mind and headed towards the town. Reaching into his jacket he counted how much money he had and made a mental checklist of how many florists would be open at this hour.

* * *

As Laertes watched Hamlet melt into the trees he became aware of how quiet it had become. He didn't feel afraid so much as anticipatory. A very strong and abrupt breeze spattered water across his back before dying just as swiftly and unnaturally as it had come.

_Unnaturally_

Steeling himself, he slowly turned around

There was a cloud

An almost sheer, misty condensation hovering above the brook; the vapour it was made of reallocating itself until a shape-a human body was visible becoming more distinct with each passing second. It appeared to be chiselled from nothing but the mysterious miasma. Laertes was awestruck

Floating before him was a young woman, no older than 16. A faded summer dress with a ragged tear in it clothed her, rhythmically rippling as though it were immersed. If blood flowed through her veins they would have been accentuated by the lack of pallor in her skin, but it was not, only a very slight cobalt hue painted her body, highlighting small lacerations and scrapes on her limbs. Withered flowers hung, tangled in her soaked, wild hair which undulated in the same fashion as her apparel. A chain with a framed pendant hung loosely from neck. Her irises—which had once been blue—were now liquid and iridescent, as if someone had poured some of the brook into her eyes. They weretwo pools of clear brilliant cerulean water. Though she wore an expression of concern, she also smiled with relief as soon as she had fully formed and caught sight of her Brother.

"Ophie?"


	6. Chapter 5: Reunion

**Chapter 5: Reunion**

"Laertes," her voice was gentle and echoed very faintly.

"Ophie, why? I nearly…I couldn't sleep or think I…" he trailed off, an unexpected catch in his throat ensnaring his words, he shifted his gaze to the ground. She opened her mouth to speak, then nervously scanned the horizon—the sun was already dangerously low. Not much time…

"Please listen to me, Laertes…please…look at me. Come here," she begged. He approached woodenly, meeting her liquescent eyes. "I saw you, earlier, I would have stopped you but I didn't know you were going to try and…hurt yourself. I have until the sun sets halfway and I have so much to say but before anything else, I have one request: Dunk yourself in the water."

Though apprehensive he obeyed, dousing is still drying clothes and hair once more. When he resurfaced she swiftly glided over and threw her arms around him. The embrace was familiar but she was colder than the water he was standing in. The siblings stayed like that for an indeterminable amount of time

"I pass through anything that isn't touched by the water from this particular source," she was almost sheepish. She fidgeted for a few seconds, clasping her hands as she did whenever she was uneasy.

"I'm so sorry, you're strong and you're smart and…I didn't think what I did would have the effects it did…I've been watching over you since I died but you only sensed it after finding that bit of my dress, both you and Hamlet were right, though it let me extend my reach from this place it warped the messages I tried to send. I can't send a clear message without fully passing on; I'm in limbo right now. I still have willpower keeping a part of me on earth but the rest of me is detached. That dress was like a microphone, I could be heard better but it gave serious feedback. I can only appear and speak here up until the sun sets halfway because that's the time I died at. But after I've said what I have to say you won't be able to see me again, I'll have fully gone."  
"I had to come to you once more; I couldn't just leave you with nothing. I've caused you so much pain you deserve to know what I really meant and what was going through my head." The words gushed from her in an anxious jumble. She prepared herself to venture back into exploring memories of insanity.

"Laertes, it hurt to think about anything. I couldn't even breathe without this constant pain that just got so much sharper when I tried to focus so I hid. I hid in my head where I was safer and I still have trouble making sense of my thoughts in the week before I died but I remember you. You were there, you shouldn't have been but you were.  
"I think somewhere I knew, I couldn't go on like that. But I never really registered it, I saw everything around me like I was a little girl again. When I was dying I thought…I thought Dad was calling us home for dinner like he used to when we played here. Subconsciously, I guess, I knew I had to say goodbye, I couldn't just go. So I said it in the way my mind let me, with flowers...wait, I didn't only give flowers to you did I? There were other people…too weren't there?"

'The King and Queen," Laertes reminded her. "You gave Fennel and Columbines to Gertrude and Rue to Claudius." He didn't feel like bothering with titles anymore. Ophelia gazed at him with a sort of confused alarm, it was unnerving.

"Nobody else?" She asked.

"Well there was an attendant but you ignored him, you had a daisy but it wasn't for him apparently."

"Who did I give it too?"

"No one"

"But…" she stopped. "Hamlet wasn't really there was he?" Laertes shook his head sadly.

"No"

There was a pause. Ophelia checked the sky again

"Do you remember what flowers I gave to you and what I said?" She demanded hurriedly. Laertes gave a wry smile.

"I would need brain bleach to forget it,"

_"Rosemary, that's for remembrance, pray you, love, remember. And there's pansies, that's for thoughts."_ They said in unison.  
Although it was difficult to tell, it almost looked like her iris was running down her face. Like she was literally crying her eyes out

"When I saw you, you looked so sad. And I couldn't deal with sad, I couldn't deal with anything. So I tried to help the only way I could think which was to just give you a gift and parting words. There was a part inside of me: Buried but sane that was trying to speak and I tried to explain but it came out of a child's mouth and I couldn't be understood.  
"I was saying 'thank you'. You took care of me and supported me and I never got to thank you. I wanted you to remember what a good person you are, remember who you are, where you came from and there will always be people who care about you. I wanted you to remember what this place meant to us, how happy we were when we were little. The tiniest things made us beam, that doesn't have to change.  
"I wanted you to think about the future, you're future. Live it for yourself, live it for Dad and if it helps live it for me. Think about purpose, even if your purpose is to relax for the time being, commit to it. Don't shut yourself away from emotions; thinking doesn't mean not feeling it means accepting. Think about hope and about love. Always remember you never have been and never will be alone." They were both teary now, holding each other's hands.

"You are so your father's daughter," said Laertes, reminded of his father's lengthy advice before his departure for France. She giggled and soon they were both laughing.

"Oh, he says make sure to keep practicing your music theory," she added. They both doubled over again at the utter absurdity of the situation. The sun sank farther and Ophelia began to flicker. Laertes stepped back, the gravity of the moment suddenly weighing on them, he would not see her after this—for a long time. They hugged again, when they broke apart Ophelia instructed him to wet his hands for a final time. She removed her necklace which solidified when it left her cloud and touched his open palms. He looked at her shimmering form quizzically

"Just to make sure you won't forget your little sister," she explained.

"Emphasis on little," he teased. "I'll give it back to you someday."

She began dissolving

_"Farewell, _Laertes_, and remember well what I have said to you._"

_"'Tis in my memory lock'd and you yourself shall keep the key of it."_

"Love you"

"Love you too, sis."

Faint rays of disappearing sunlight trickled through the remaining mist


	7. Chapter 6: Peace

**Chapter 6: Peace**

Hamlet heard the door open and rotated to face whoever was entering. He knew who it was but curiosity kept him from hiding his eagerness. He was about to ask exactly what happened but a glint from a very familiar chain caught the light and he ogled at it, transfixed. Seeing this, Laertes opened his fist and uncovered the pink pendant.

They didn't say anything to each other, Hamlet no longer felt the insatiable need to delve into what had transpired that evening, it was no longer his business; just like the soil on his hands and the new makeshift garden outside was no concern of Laertes. Said Dane slipped the necklace into his back pocket and headed for his room. Hamlet followed suit, both of them sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks if not months.

As soon as he woke up the next morning, Hamlet got dressed and went outside to check on the small patch of flowers he'd planted the night before. He dared not expect the unexpected but as he neared he noticed some flora distinctly different from what he'd placed there himself and sprinted the rest of the way to the plot.

The previous night he'd decided to attempt to send a message of his own. He knew he'd have to try in a way that was indirect but would be understood. She could only communicate in symbolism; therefore, he would do the same and use her media: Nature. Speaking in private cyphers also left a chance—a slim one but regardless, a chance—that he could receive an answer. He'd boiled down the things he wanted to say to their simplest forms. He'd then done a bit of research and made purchases accordingly. The result of his handiwork resided in freshly tilled earth.

A delicate Pink Carnation, a vibrant Red Chrysanthemum and a fragile Purple Hyacinth

He'd even gone so far as to leave some extra space…just in case he received a reply and remarkably, the space had been filled overnight.

A perfect White Tulip bloomed as though it had been growing there for weeks instead of hours not one sign of overturned mud or uneven ground. Alongside the tulip was a thriving and equally as flawless Arbutus, both swaying slightly in the soft morning breeze.

His heart pounded as he fumbled for his phone searching 'flower meanings' on Google. The results popped up at painfully drawn out speed but after checking multiple sites for accuracy he ran his hand through his hair and exhaled allowing intense relief to wash over him before looking up at the sky and giving a grateful smile, he knew it would be seen.

Laertes rolled over in bed, checked the time, groaned and rolled back over. He could feel the sunrise filtering through the window and warming his bed which was reason enough for him to stay there. It struck him that this was the first time since he'd "come back to life" that he'd felt genuinely okay with waking up.

Peeping out from under the covers at his desk he saw the necklace. He could have sung with relief because it was actually there. He basked for a little while longer before stretching, leaving the bed and walking over to his closet, pulling out a battered suitcase. He began packing it going clearing out his dresser until he reached the bottom of drawer and pulled out a false bottom he'd made, revealing the dress piece. Tying it around the necklace he looped that through his belt so the pendant and fabric would hang in his pocket but it would look like a wallet chain.

He stood stationary for a moment and it occurred to him he didn't really know where he was going to go. He made a short list and narrowed it down to a few places: He hadn't finished everything he'd wanted to do in France and still had Euros to use up. He'd taken English lessons for a while; it might be nice to try them out in England, Hell, maybe even Scotland, and Italy, a tour of "The Boot". He sat back and nodded, memorizing the information before crumpling it up and going downstairs to check the only computer in the house about flight times. It was exciting, having something to look forward to again.

The future was no longer a frightening thing to think about.

He felt hope

Ophelia watched as Hamlet titled his head skyward and gave her a smile. She used the reserves of her energy that could be directed towards earth to increase the scent of the flowers, and stir the wind causing a sweet fragrance to permeate the air around him and a petal or two to be carried by the air and brush against his cheek. She knew it would be a very long time before she'd be able to send anything like that down to either Hamlet or her brother but doubted she'd need to anyway. They had both let go

She turned her sight inside the house where she saw Laertes methodically packing his old suitcase. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see her father standing over her, watching his son.

"Has he packed his music yet?" inquired Polonius.

"Yes, Dad."

"Good" there was a lull while they observed him sit down at his desk and quickly scrawl something out on a Post-it note.

"Scotland?" Polonius was incredulous

"Relax, I'm sure it's lovely," Ophelia placated.

"I heard they were awfully superstitious there, read something about it once, don't trust that…that…Glamor place…" he trailed off muttering to himself disapprovingly.

"I think its Glamis and please try not to worry so much, now you're making me nervous."

"It's my job," he said. There were another few moments of silence.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Ophelia realized that this was the first time (in life or death) that her father had asked for her opinion on something. Dying had a strange way of shifting your perspective. She saw Laertes boot up an old Dell desktop then went over to have a word with Hamlet who had just re-entered the house. They spoke for a bit then shook hands, the sincerity of the action was unquestionable.

"I'm sure of it." They looked at each other and he ruffled her hair before retreating to his book. She grinned; the family in-joke had managed to transcend a lifetime. She turned her attention to Laertes and Hamlet, her brother and her lover. A small tear rolled down her face as she whispered to the both of them.

_"Fare you well my dove"_

* * *

**Thank you for reading, please let me know what you thought, this is the longest story I;ve ever written and I had to do serious editing and please just guide me. Thank you for sticking with this until the end**

**Anon!**


End file.
